


not today

by sunflower_8



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional pain, Existentialism, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, M/M, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-07 03:00:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20302336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflower_8/pseuds/sunflower_8
Summary: he hears an angel's choir





	not today

the river gushes below him, crashing against the rocks and lapping gently against the muddy shore. in the daylight, the water is clear with a blue-ish tint-- if it’s a good day, that is. on the bad days, it’s grey and dreary, miserable rain making puddles in the water like a butterfly effect. but now it is night, and the stream is colored black. the sound rarely changes, though. if he closes his eyes, he can hear the melody of the current, and it hurts his heart in a way he can never express. he can’t be here long, but he closes his eyes and pretends like he’s alone in the world; drifting through clouds and grasping memories from the past, the days so old and tired that they collapse in bed and never stand again. he wonders if the old days are littered in the grass somewhere. 

the air is frigid and cold. he likes to pretend it’s refreshing, almost like a cool soda on a beach. but he’s not on the beach. he’s on a bridge that managed to survive through an inferno, observing the not yet frozen water and wishing it wasn’t so cold. his hands move to warm his arms; he forgot his jacket. he had laid the fabric on the sleeping body of his companion, hoping it could keep him warm at night. but now it’s glacial with piercing cold, and it stabs him in the chest. his heart feels like it may freeze.

he watches as a wave hits the singed grass and carries it away into the water. his eyes burn when he sees how weak the grass and trees really are; how the wind sweeps them in the water’s arms and carries them to a safer place. he wishes he was in the water, being held and taken to a safe haven. a place where he doesn’t feel like a stranger, or somewhere where he doesn’t have to look behind him to make sure he is alone. a place where everything was still-- still except for the water. the river is a lullaby that came too late.

he hears footsteps next to him, and he stays still. he knows the risk of going in public, where others could be, but it is one of the bad days where he misses the old days. an arm wraps around his shoulder and he leans into the careful touch. he thinks of an angel’s choir absentmindedly. he would like to hear it someday.

“why are you out here alone?” a voice whispers to him, speaking quietly as to not break the fragile moment. the pitch isn’t an angel’s, but it’s comforting in other ways. familiar. 

“i needed to think.”

“it’s freezing.” the figure pressed against him is so caring and soft. he feels his own jacket being draped over his shoulders, but still he is cold.

(he fears the cold hides beyond skin and bone)

his gaze does not move from the water, even as a pair of eyes looks at him, one hazel and one red. the red sometimes represents blood and war, but now, paired with the gentle expression, it looks like rubies, roses, and home. petal-soft pink lips press against his temple before speaking, “you know it’s dangerous to be out here, especially when you’re on your own. you worried me.”

“i’m sorry,” the words drip from his mouth like bitter nectar, and he thinks he’s the dying flower. a grey rose slowly wilting, caving in on itself. another arm wraps around him, and he feels a second kiss against his cheek, grounding him. he remembers spring.

“don’t apologize. i just want you to be okay. i don’t want to lose you, nagito.” the way the other speaks his name reminds him of summer flowers floating in an aqua sea. he’s like orange blossom chocolate or kusamochi, like time and eternity, and it scares nagito to think of that, because he doesn’t want to think of the future or the present. he would rather live in the past, where it’s safe and yet so painful. 

maybe he wants to be nowhere at all.

“i’m sorry.”

“don’t. do you want to go sit inside now? i can start the fire again, and we can talk.”

“...h-hajime?” his voice sounds strangled, and he feels like the river may be disappointed. his chest hurts and his heart pleads. his throat closes, trapping the bitter memories in his body.

“yeah?”

he rests his head against hajime’s chest, allowing his temple to press against the other’s heartbeat, “can we go to sleep? i don’t want to exist today or tomorrow. i want it to be still.”

a hand brushes through his hair, and he shivers. he’s overwhelmed by the soft, loving touches and hajime’s smile. he feels almost dizzy, maybe from the affection or, what’s more apparent and painful, the suffering. his pale hands cling to the other’s shirt, holding the fabric tightly. his heart races and his head pounds and he’s in such pain. he isn’t certain why, but he feels himself breathe again as his companion speaks, “c’mon, let’s go inside. we can sleep. i’ll protect you.”

“okay.” his voice is faint, and he doesn’t like it very much. he likes hajime’s voice, though. sparing one last glance at the river, he walks inside the little camp they set up for themselves. he watches hajime set up a fire, which makes him sweat and reminds him of worse times. but he tries to admire the sparks that fly in every direction and the wistful look that appears on its tender’s face. 

(the faint glow from the fire makes him look so much more beautiful, and nagito remembers that he’s the purity amidst an unlucky existence. the culmination of despair and hope created hajime hinata, and even the evil in his veins understands.) 

when hajime finishes, he smiles contently at his work, glowing like an angel. he turns and opens his arms up to the other, allowing nagito to crawl into his embrace. tears burn at the corners of his eyes, but hajime kisses his forehead and hair, and the two of them lay down on a tattered sleeping bag meant for one (but there is always two). nagito feels his defenses fall and whimpers weakly then, “please. please let everything be still.”

“shh,” a hand brushes against his face, “shhh. it’s okay, nagito. it’s okay. get some rest. i’m here.”

if he closes his eyes and focuses, he can hear the river whistling a somber tune. he can hear the fire flicker, but the warmth he feels comes from neither of those places. the feeling doesn’t burn, and he allows himself to fall asleep in an embrace. the winter rages outside, and today it sears its mark on the snowy ground, but it doesn’t taunt him. he can face tomorrow when it comes, and he can face today when he’s strong enough to look back. but for now, he is safe and loved. 

and somewhere, he hears an angel’s choir.

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this whilst listening to the song "roslyn" by bon iver and st vincent. it made my heart hurt in a way i can't express. anyways, comments are appreciated if you can spare the time.
> 
> edit: so a user named "yumeno" translated my fic into russian! i'm extremely honored and thankful, here is the link to it:
> 
> https://ficbook.net/readfic/8561930
> 
> thank you so much again, it means a lot that people actually like my writing enough to translate it.


End file.
